


The Ghosts You Draw On My Back

by vinewoodfamous



Series: Vinewood Glamour [1]
Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Angst, Conflict, Confrontation, Drama, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Conflict
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2018-12-26 10:23:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12057015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vinewoodfamous/pseuds/vinewoodfamous
Summary: Charlotte Weston is a reluctant Vinewood actress, doing minor league roles that her grandfather, Solomon Richards, coerces her into.  After one too many tantrums by demanding co-stars, she gets fed up – only to find herself talked off of the ledge by our favorite criminal-turned-producer, Michael De Santa.   Will he be able to hold up his promise of being a better man, or will each of them fall victim to the Vinewood Dream?





	1. Rough Draft / Story Of A Lonely Man

“Cut!”

The word echoed throughout the production lot for what seemed like the millionth time that day, groans of the various staff members not lingering far behind. It was one of the warmest days in recent Los Santos memory, leaving everyone sweaty, hot, and just plain exhausted – so of course, this would be the day when her co-star, Milton McIlroy, would choose to try and pull privileges from his Vinewood star status. 

“Alright everyone, good work for the day. We'll see all of you first thing in the morning, bright and early – and I swear to Christ that if we have to delay filming because you can't act like adults, I'm gonna start docking someone's pay......and it AIN'T gonna be mine!”

Charlotte found herself rolling her eyes at the director's words. The guy was one of the skeesiest directors left in Los Santos, but her grandfather, the old school man that he was, swore his loyalty to the director and had hired him on to every job in the last ten years. It certainly didn't hurt that this project was already on it's last leg before it even got off of the ground; Directors weren't exactly tripping over each other, clamoring for a chance to claim this latest film. 

“Sweetpea, why don't you come on over here for a minute?”, the director beckoned, leaving Charlotte wishing that a piece of the set would somehow collapse directly on top of him, crushing him and finally freeing the entire movie cast from dealing with his tyrannical methods any longer. 'It'd honestly be doing the entirety of the world a favor', she mused, chuckling under her breath.

“Look”, he began as soon as she was within earshot. “I get that you're Solomon's grandkid and that your Daddy is the one bankrolling this entire lot – congratu-fuck-lations. That won't earn you any favors on my set.”

Popping her jaw from side to side, Charlotte struggled to maintain her temper. Letting her temper run free, no matter how warranted, would not be the kind of public image she wanted to carry for the rest of her career – although, if she had her way, this wouldn't be her career at all. Her mother's mantra (“play nice, Charlie girl. You'll catch more flies with honey than with vinegar") echoed through her head, forcing a stiff smile to appear on her face.

“You don't have to worry about me, Mr. Kent. I'll try and do better, I promise.”

The director's responding grin and muttered 'good girl' had her stomach turning, wondering if taking on this role was worth all of the stress and digusting comments.

\-----------------------

“Don't forget that I have a tennis lesson tonight, so I won't be home for dinner!”

“Oh, don't you worry! How in the hell could I even dare to forget about your left hand potentially going weak if you weren't constantly jerkin' your instructor off with it??”, Michael shouted back in Amanda's general direction, knowing well that she wasn't listening to a sentence that didn't include the offer of money or a new Prada handbag. 

Things in the De Santa household had been less than idyllic since their therapist's latest attempt to get the couple to 'work things out'. Amanda pulled it together for a few weeks, long enough for Tracey to go off to college (where Michael could only assume she was getting herself into some kind of trouble that would require his credit card to save her) – but as soon as that front door slammed shut behind her, the snide comments and rude remarks started right back up again. Sighing to himself over the never-ending drama, he moved the phone back up to his ear, waiting for the shocked man on the other end of the line to begin speaking again.

“Yo, is that your wife again? I gotta be honest with you, man, I don't know what you see in her.”, Franklin spoke incredulously, well aware of the fact that he was toeing a line when discussing his friend's wife and her less-than-appropriate behavior. This was his friend and he wanted to be there for Michael; It's just that his distaste for the less-than-ideal home life was hard to contain after awhile.

In the recesses of his mind, Michael was well aware of the fact that, as her husband, he should stand up for Amanda, should defend her honor and dignity. After over ten years of the same bullshit, though, he just wasn't sure he had the fight left in him anymore. It wasn't as if it was a lie – Amanda changed sexual partners almost as often as most people changed their underwear, barely even bothering to hide it from plain sight anymore. The sexy stripper that he had convinced himself that he loved nearly 20 years ago had been replaced over time with a shrewd, harping, money-grubbing shell of a person who cared more about what others thought of her than what she thought of herself. The kids were the only things that had held the marriage together for so long, and now, even that was beginning to crumble.

“I don't know, man. Do yourself a favor, F – avoid getting married until you've already lost your will to live.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, kids - there's chapter one. I know, I know - this first chapter is a little short and came out a bit strange, but I had to get something down to hold myself accountable or I know that this story would never have seen the light of day.
> 
> I'm already working on a chapter two for y'all. There will be a few minor plot changes along the way, but if I get anything too drastically wrong, please let me know.
> 
> Comments are always welcomed and appreciated; They'll help me know if this is even a story that anyone would want to read.


	2. Sidewalk Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** I AM SO SORRY FOR DELETING AND REPOSTING THIS CHAPTER! It wasn't until earlier today (Sep. 20) that I realized that the chapter I had uploaded was actually the draft version. There were some really important details and plot points that were NOT in the draft version but are actually quite vital to the storyline. Thanks for understanding**
> 
> There's a couple of time jumps (like from Solomon's office to the car ride and then to the restaurant), mainly because it's late and I couldn't find a smooth way to transition.

“But if I stand like  _that_ , all anyone is going to be paying attention to are her tits – not me!”

Another day, another disagreement. Charlotte had hoped a night of sleep, albeit somewhat fitful, would have renewed her spirit and changed the way she was beginning to view the project – and, in a way, it had. She no longer viewed it as 'doing Grandpa a favor' and instead viewed it as 'This is it. This is going to be the project that finally drives me to insanity. I'm going to wind up bludgeoning him to death with a prop hammer and will have to live with some new teenage wannabe star fresh off of the greyhound from South Bend playing me in the Lifetime adaptation of my life story'. That was... something, right?

\------------------------------

“I can't keep doing this, Grandpa!”, she half-shouted in exasperation, pacing back and forth, feet having long-since worn a path through the office carpeting. Once the director called cut (complete with her co-star quite literally stomping off to his trailer), she had taken off for the administrative offices, ready to let her Grandfather know that he needed to find a new leading lady. Charlotte knew somewhere in the recesses of her mind that she should be grateful; Dozens of girls and women walked out of the Los Santos Airport with the stars in their eyes and dreams of being Vinewood famous – and here she was, having it all handed to her, wrapped up in a neat little package. It was when these thoughts crept to the forefront that she felt that nagging feeling of guilt. Her home was paid for, car was covered, she never had to worry about where her next meal was going to come from or if her electric was going to get cut-off at any moment; It just felt wrong to complain.

Solomon watched his granddaughter pace through his office, feet having long-since worn a path through the carpeting that had been in the office for nearly as long as him. He had expected this day for a long time, had known that shoe-horning Charlotte into a career that she didn't really want was only bound to end miserably – but it was this or her father ship her off to some distant place, slowly squandering away a wealth of talent. Devin Weston treated his businesses better than he had ever treated his wife or daughter, and Solomon was determined to not see his last remaining family member shipped away like a business that was no longer useful to the bottom line.

Both of them were yanked back into the present with a rhythmic tapping against the door. “Y'busy, Sol?”, Michael's head peaked around the corner, ready to dodge any flying objects – having learned his lesson after breaking up a disagreement between the older man and a different leading lady, ending with a paperweight to the eye and an uncomfortable discussion with Amanda about where the black eye had come from. Solomon waved the man into the room, holding up a hand as if to pause the discussion between himself and Charlotte.

“Charlotte, this is Michael De Santa, the new producer. Michael, you already know my granddaughter Charlotte.”

Awkward introduction and obligatory handshake aside, Charlotte felt herself sizing up the man standing before her and judging by the intensity of his glare, she could only imagine that he was doing the same to her. His name had came up in conversation at family dinners a few times, and she had seen him making his way through the studios once or twice – but had never paid it much mind.

“I was just telling our dear Charlie-Girl that she shouldn't walk away just yet – give it a chance, think on it a little. What d'you think, Mike?”

A quick glance at the young woman made Michael's own anxiety and stress levels go up ten-fold. She radiated frustration, looking like a woman nearing the end of her rope and he was fairly certain that if Solomon hadn't intercepted her, Charlotte would probably have walked away from the movie and never looked back. “I think a good lunch couldn't hurt, get off of location for a little while.”

Solomon grinned and if he didn't know better, Michael would've said that Solomon had winked at him, as if trying to transmit some secret, non-verbal message. “There's a diner down the street, if the two of you would like to take a couple hour long break. C'mon, Charlie-Girl – just think on it for a couple of hours, would ya? For dear ole' Granddad?”

The look she gave Solomon could have have burned a hole clean through some glass. Personally, she thought that going to lunch, thinking on the prospect of staying, would just have been delaying the inevitable. But, in a reversal of roles from her childhood, her Grandfather had learned the ways of guilting someone in an effort to get them to lean your way and was using them against her.

“Fine – I'll go to lunch with your boy here, but I really don't think that's going to change my opinion at all, Grandpa.”, she remarked, leaning forwards to give him a kiss on the cheek.

\-------------------------

“So...what's your deal?, she spoke softly, glancing at the man who had so rapidly become a trusted member of Solomon's inner circle. “ I mean, all my Grandfather said is that you helped him out and that you were going to be a producer on some of his work in the future.”

Michael's car traveled down the interstate, passing cars randomly along the way.He had to give it to her – For someone who was ready to walk away less than thirty minutes prior, Charlotte was certainly willing to indulge in her natural curiosities.

“I helped the old man out a while back... _took care_  of some things that wanted to end movie production as we know it.”, his voice rasped, being deliberately vague about the beating he had delivered to Rocco Pelosi on behalf of Richards Majestic Productions. “I guess he just likes the way I handle things is all.”

Doubt flittered through Charlotte's mind, recalling her father's absolute rage a few weeks prior at a business deal (one with details she hadn't been privy to) falling through and the way Solomon had mysteriously hired Michael De Santa just a few days later. She wasn't naive to the fact that her father despised her Grandfather's nostalgic ways – but she hadn't wanted to believe that he was trying to single-handedly dismantle the family business either.

\-------------------------

The pair remained in the midst of a comfortable silence, allowing the waiter at the small restaurant to guide them to a quiet table on the deck. Neither wanted to make that first step, unsure of how to broach the topic – Michael in that he wanted to keep the starlett from walking around and leaving dozens of people out of work, and Charlotte in that she didn't want to let anyone down, least of all this curious stranger that had been tasked with talking her off of the ledge.

Shaking her head, Charlotte dragged her gaze up from the dirty cement of the sidewalk and leveled it on the man sitting opposite her. “I appreciate that you're trying to hold this shit-show of a movie together, which is a battle in and of itself. Clearly, there is reason to believe you're good at it, or someone would have escorted you from the lot and not allowed you to return.”, she admitted, letting the cold-hearted actress facade drop, even if just for a moment. That all-too-familiar guilty feeling was jumping up and down in the back of her mind, never letting her forget about all of the cast and crew who would be left in the wind if she were to quit mid-production. It must have shown on her face, judging by the way that Michael's features almost immediately softened, as if approaching a wounded animal.

“Hey, listening to grown men whine about 'oh, there are only two pumps of hazlenut in my non-fat, skim milk, mocha-frappa-bullshit instead of three!' isn't exactly my idea of a good time either there, sweetpea”, Michael spoke, not missing the way Charlotte's eyebrow raised at the bluntness of his statement or the way the corner of her mouth lifted ever-so-slightly as if biting back a laugh. It was nice, seeing a genuine reaction – part of him wishing that she just let it fly, instead of trying to hide it and become whatever she thought the people around her wanted to see. It stirred up a playful side that he thought he had buried years ago, along with his dignity and self-respect. “But it's what we get paid the big bucks for, and if you really think about it, it's not all that bad of a gig. Just a couple more weeks and then we can forget that it ever happened.”

Nodding her head, Charlotte felt a true, honest-to-God grin tug at her features. “Y'know something, Michael? This....”, she commented lightly, motioning between the two of them with her hands. “This has been deceptively nice.”

Ignoring the sudden sense of warmth that the sound of his name from her mouth brought to him, Michael leaned back in his seat, nodding his head in confirmation.

_'Maybe these next few weeks won't be so bad after all...'_

\-------------------------

Seated across the street, Dave Norton found himself wondering how it was that he kept ending up on the receiving end of the bad luck at the FIB.   He had been the so-called "Golden Boy" after arresting Townley, after bringing the DA enough evidence to ensure that the charges would stick, should Michael ever step out of line and require....motivation for his continued cooperation.   This felt wrong; The man finally seemed to have it together, although the recent addition of what Dave could only assume to be a blonde mistress had raised a flag or two about problems on the "De Santa" home front, but generally, with the exception of a low-level jewelry store bust, he had been flying under the radar for nearly ten years.  

 "I still could have nailed you for that, you smug son of a bitch", the man muttered under his breath, eyes carefully trained on the pair casually enjoying their lunch.   _"No, you couldn't have, Norton.  Quit lyin' to yourself"_ , he heard the small earpiece in his right ear crackle to life, the voice of ~~the permanent pain in his ass~~ rising star FIB Agent Steve Haines coming through loud and clear from his position back at headquarters followed up with a sarcastic laugh, one that had Dave longing for the days of his youth, when he would've decked Haines without so much as a second thought.     _"I told you to get surveillance photos of little Miss Weston, not get your rocks off over the highlight of your career.  Take the damned pictures and get your ass back here, pronto.  You'll be able to reminisce with her about her boytoy's glory days soon enough.  Haines out."_

This all felt so wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kind feedback on the first chapter! I hope that this (as well as all future chapters) live up to your expectations. This is the first time I've ever really tried to merge and write a chapter from two different perspectives; If y'all like it, I'll try to write the rest of the chapters like this. If not, I'll go back to one POV per chapter.
> 
> *I did not proofread this chapter, so if you find any errors, please let me know*


	3. Learning How To Smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read the revised version of chapter two, I would urge you to do so. There will be some areas where it seems like I don't go much into the one-on-one interactions between Michael and Charlotte – but that's generally because I plot a rough outline of a story before I write and publish it. It gets the main plot points and enough extra to fill out a chapter, but the minutiae often goes unnoticed. I may write some of these encounters out as one-shots later on down the road (in fact, I can almost guarantee that THAT is what will happen)

It had started out with actually saying 'hello' when they saw each other around the lot, giving a honk if they happened to pass each other coming in to the parking lot – eventually becoming Charlotte bringing Michael a coffee from his favorite coffee shop in Pillbox Hill (“Black, two sugars”, she thought every time she ordered for him) or Michael bringing her a funnel cake from Vespucci Beach (“with plenty of powdered sugar, enough that I can do one hell of a Tony Montana impression!”, she had joked the first time he had brought her the sugary sweet treat). A few times a week, they'd venture out to get some lunch with one another – sometimes with other production crew members, other times on their own.

When she had stumbled upon a box of old movies while helping her Grandfather clean out the garage, the first person she had thought to call was Michael; They ended up having an old movie night – but after a few drinks, the pair ended up passed out the sofa, the cold light of morning finding Charlotte's back pulled against his chest, a protective arm holding her close. Truth be told, it was the most relaxed, most refreshing sleep he could remember having in recent memory. Hell, most days Amanda was showered, dressed, and engaging in yoga or tennis or whatever the fad of the week was long before Michael could even roll out of bed. Even when they first got married, she refused to lay too close to him when they slept, insisting that he got too hot and sweaty.

“It sounds like it's just a friendship between two co-workers.” a voice echoed, making Michael pause from his spot in the closet, getting dressed and ready for the movie premier that evening, the night that he had spent the last few months working towards.

“Then why can I not shake the feeling that I'm doin' something wrong? That I'm runnin' around behind my wife's back again? I might not know much here, Doc, but I'm pretty sure that thinkin' of a woman like this would count as one of those relapse things you're always goin' on about.”, Michael wondered out loud, expecting the voice on the other end of the speakerphone to confirm his suspicions, to chastise him for once again indulging himself rather than thinking of his family.

“Well, now Micahel”, he heard Dr. Friedlander begin, bracing himself for the good doctor's reaction. “From the sounds of things, you haven't actually _done_ anything yet, have you?”

“Well, no bu-”

“Okay, then I don't see it as a relapse; I see it as a man who likes the attention and adoration that young lady is giving you, rather than the relationship you have with your wife. You've been married for nearly twenty years, of course some of the shine has long since worn off of the relationship with Amanda. Besides, relapse is a vital part of recovery.”

“Wait a minute, I thought you just said you didn't view this as a relap-”  
  
“By the way, while I have your attention, your insurance ran out. I don't suppose you could pay cash from now on? The rate for that is slightly higher – cost of cutting out the banks and all of that. We can discuss this more at your next visit, but I'm afraid this is all we have time for today. Be well, and remember, brother, we're all rowing together. Now, cross that ocean.”, Dr. Friedlander spoke quickly, as if rushing to get off of the phone before he were forced into giving actual advice.

With a sigh, Michael hung up the phone call, taking one last look at himself in the mirror. His hairline was a little further back than it was several years ago, stubble on his chin a little grayer, his gut protruding a little more than he was comfortable with. Amanda never hesitated to point out his failings, both physically, financially, and emotionally – but with Charlotte? It was just two people enjoying each other's company, never concerned about appearances.

Was it _really_ so awful of him to want to indulge in those feelings as much as possible?

\------------------------------

Charlotte would have been lying to herself is she said that she hadn't grown to enjoy the time that she and Michael were spending together; It was rare to find someone who actually wanted to spend time with _her_ , not just because they figured she could give them easy access to Solomon or on occasion, even her father. Old movies, trips to Vespucci Beach, shooting pool with his buddy Franklin at sketchy bars in Chamberlain Hills, taking drives up to Sandy Shores while simultaneously warning her to avoid Trevor unless she was with him or Franklin (“Probably just me, though. Let's be real, T is a few cocoa crispies short of being Count Chocula, if you catch my drift.”) - They were all such simple activities that her father had said were beneath her social standing as a Weston, but they also satisfied some part of her soul that she hadn't even known was empty.

\------------------------------

“We did it! We fucking did it!”, Solomon shouted, arms raised as Michael approached the duo, accompanied by his son, Jimmy. The friendly interaction brought a smile to her face; After months of problem after problem, tantrum after tantrum, the movie was finally here. Lights flashed as the various paparazzi snapped pictures of their favorite celebrities, ready to sell them to whatever magazine wanted to run a 'Hot or Not' fashion column the next morning. “I might be a lecherous old has-been, but I'm a has-been with a premier at the Oriental Theatre on Vinewood Boulevard!”

Everyone was so relaxed, quite the change from the stress-fueled nights that had become commonplace, both during filming and post-production. Nights like this, ones where they all got to dress to the nines and enjoy each other's company were like everyone collectively releasing the breaths they held, while waiting to see if the film would be successful or not.

“Hey! Hope I'm not too late – I wouldn't miss this for the world!”, Devin practically shouted as he hustled towards them. Something about the interaction just felt...off to Charlotte, accentuated by the way Solomon and Michael both tensed up when her father walked up to them. “Hey, what a movie, huh? Meltdown! - Congrats, Mikey, we did it.”

 _'We?'_ , she thought to herself. Her father hadn't been involved with the production, at least not as far as Charlotte was aware; He had never been to the lot, had never mentioned it beyond asking her how her day was (though she could tell that her father rarely paid attention to what followed that question).

“You – you two know each other?”, she questioned, eyes darting between her father and Michael, two people that she couldn't imagine willingly spending time with one another. Charlotte loved her father, but he was business-oriented and if you didn't fit into that world, you were of little relevance to him. Michael nodded tensely, eyes never leaving Devin, as if waiting for him to strike.  
  
“Yes, Mr. De Santa and I have quite the history, don't we? I'll be inside, Charlotte. Come in and find me when you're done.” With a kiss on his daughter's cheek, Devin sent one last smirk in Michael's direction before heading into the theatre. She turned to Michael, prepared to inquire about how the pair knew each other when grabbed her arm, steering them into theatre restrooms, careful to make sure it was empty before speaking.

“What the _hell_ Michael?”, she hissed, shaking her arm free of his grasp. “That couldn't have been anymore awkward if you two had actually tried to make it awkward.”

Michael was pacing the bathroom, looking for the right words to explain his connection to Devin Weston without Charlotte looking at him like he was insane. The last person he had explained any of this to, outside of Franklin, had been Amanda nearly twenty years prior; All she had cared about was if he continued to keep her in nice clothes and fancy cars – Instinct told him that a girl like Charlotte might feel differently.

“Look, you remember I told you I know people?”, he questioned, waiting until Charlotte nodded her head in confirmation before continuing. “It's 'cause back in the day, I did some shit – some real bad shit. I just.....” With a heavy sigh (and a touch of bourbon-induced courage from the sip he had stolen from his flask earlier in the evening), Michael took a deep breath before speaking again. “I got a lot of bad people gunnin' for me – The FIB, The IAA, Merryweather – That's how I know your father, alright? Trevor did somethin' real stupid a while back and we all ended up on their radar.”

Her mouth opened and closed a few times, searching for words that just never came. Part of her wanted to deny it, to smack him on the arm and tell him he was being an asshat before going back in to the party – but another part of her knew, could tell that the story he was telling her was really the truth. A gut feeling had told her that her father's company had been doing some less-than-honorable business and with the way Michael had been warning her away from Trevor, the way the two men frequently talked under the breaths when all three of them spent any time together, she figured there had to have been a reason.

“Look, I done a lot of things that I ain't proud of, okay? I never claimed to be an angel. But if you knew, Charlie.......If you knew about all of it, you'd be runnin' in the opposite direction and never lookin' back. I'm a bad fuckin' guy.”, Michael choked out, the weight of the ten-ton bolder that had wedged itself firmly onto his shoulders shifting ever-so-slightly with his confession. It was a big risk, telling her about that part of himself; Devin Weston was a powerful man, and he knew that, for Charlotte, getting involved with a guy like him would put her squarely in the middle of her father (and subsequently Merryweather's) radar. He wouldn't have blamed her for walking away from whatever this thing between them was. The look of shame was etched into Michael's face – It was as if he had somehow aged twenty years since the conversation had began; Gone was the excited, proud producer and in his place was a weary, road-worn man who had dealt with more than his fair share of struggle in his life.

“Well, I don't....I don't know about _that_ ”, she stammered, glancing down at her feet for a moment before dragging her gaze back up to the icy blue gaze that was currently searching her face for any hint as to what she thought of him. “I think....I think maybe you're a good guy that was forced into a bad situation, y'know? And maybe I'm wrong, I don't know. I mean, what could a rich white girl from Vinewood Hills know about struggles and bad situations, right? It's jus- ”

Charlotte's words were cut off abruptly by the forceful (and yet, somehow still gentle) press of Michael's lips against her own. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she could hear _something_ screaming at her that she should stop this, should turn Michael away and send him back to Amanda, should pretend that this never happened, should be doing any one of a hundred different things – but the only thing she found herself actually doing was indulging in the softness of the kiss and the way it made her feel alive.

“Dad! Da-ad, where are you?”  
  
Jimmy's voice cut through the air like a hot knife, sending Charlotte and Michael stumbling away from each other, chests heaving as if they had just finished running a marathon. The sound of the De Santa son eagerly shouting about being a producer's son announced his presence shortly before his came tumbling around the corner, eyes immediately lowering into a knowing state, as if it weren't the first time he had caught his father in an awkward position.

“I should, um, yeah, I should go.”, Charlotte spoke softly, trying (and failing) to ignore the way her voice wavered ever so slightly. Her hands smoothed the imaginary-wrinkles out of her gown, suddenly feeling much colder than she had even just a few seconds prior.

A frisson of panic rolled through Michael, every fiber of his being begging him to go after her, to go tell Amanda exactly where she could shove whatever frivolous demands she had this time before going to join the person he really wanted to be with – but instead, he remained glued to the spot, eyes begging Charlotte 's retreating form to understand. _'Just a little bit longer, baby'_ , he thought to himself. _'just stick with me for a little bit longer'_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, everyone. I went through a bought of Writer's Block and while I'm not completely satisfied with how hurried this one seems in a couple of places, I wanted to get something out there, move the story along a little bit.


	4. The Pros and Cons of Breathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahead - Please be gentle. I'm not going to proofread it too much or I will second guess everything and wind up not publishing it. If you find mistakes, please let me know.
> 
> This is probably the longest chapter I've written to date (or will write in the future) - There just wasn't a good place to try and split it into two.

Rain drops had spent the better part of the last few hours cascading down onto the apartment windows, playing out a rhythm that seemed to bring the city of Los Santos to a standstill. For once, things were quiet, things almost eerily slowing down as if the rain managed to ease the tensions, even if just for a moment or two.

A hot shower upon arriving home from the premier had done little to soothe Charlotte's anxious mind; Instead, the water had drowned out all other noise, leaving her alone to ponder the various what ifs – What if Jimmy hadn't shown up when he had? What if Michael wasn't a married man? Would she be able to stop herself again, should the opportunity present itself in the future?

Would she even want to?

Heading to bed early had proved equally fruitless; She rolled over in bed with a sigh, mind racing with unanswered questions and replaying the previous night's events over and over again on a never-ending loop. The kiss had been...intense, that much was for certain. It had been so long since her last relationship and even then, it had been one of convenience and publicity, rather than because she had actually enjoyed the man's company. None of the moments she had shared with that man had made her feel even a fraction as much as that one brief encounter with Michael had. A little, nagging voice in the back of Charlotte's mind couldn't help but remind her, however, of the fact that as a married man, Michael De Santa would forever be off-limits, forever delegated to her fantasies and nothing more.

The buzzer on the home intercom system her father had insisted on rang out (“It's for your own safety, pumpkin”, he had spoke, the nickname forever irritating Charlotte), cutting through the relative silence. A quick glance towards the clock, at the neon red digits flashing out '2:03 AM', left her furrowing her brows before moving to see who found themselves on her doorstep as such a late hour.

Her feet padded along the cold tile of their own volition, moving to the front door and nearly closing it again out of pure instinct when she saw Michael De Santa's rain-soaked figure standing in front of her.  
  
“What are you doing here, Michael?”, she questioned, part of her wondering if she should expect Amanda to be outside, bashing out the headlights of her car with a louisville slugger. Charlotte probably would have let her, though; After all, what kind of person longs for a married man, regardless of if it's happily so or not? Nearly every step she had taken since meeting Michael De Santa had been a step in the wrong direction, laced with regret and a sense of betrayal towards this woman she had never ever met. The comeuppance would come due sooner or later.

His voice stammered and stuttered, searching for the right thing to say but knowing that in this case, there really wasn't a “right” thing to say. “I just...I wanted to see you.”

God, she wanted to believe him, wanted to wrap her arms around him and let the lingering scent of whiskey and cigar smoke that was so very distinctly Michael wrap her in its warm embrace.

“Yeah? D'ya ask your wife's permission first?”, she sniped, fully aware of how unfair she was being but prepared to slam the door shut in his face again, threaten him with calling the cops if it came to that (although she would never follow through on that particular threat – not when it came to him). A meek voice responded back with “There is no wife....'least, not for a whole helluva lot longer” followed by him extending his arm, a small stack of papers hanging from the tip of his grasp. Her eyes scanned the page, most of the words being unrecognizable but a few near the top caught her attention: 'Dissolution of Marriage in RE: The marriage of Michael De Santa (Petitioner/Husband) and Amanda De Santa (Respondent/Wife)'

“Michael”, she started before clamping her mouth shut again, unable to find adequate words to convey the storm raging in her head and heart. A part of her, deep within her own mind, knew that she should feel guilty about this, maybe even a little responsible – but another part was just really excited at the prospect of what those papers meant for each of them. He wanted nothing more than to take Charlotte into his arms, to finish what they had started at the premier, to _show_ her what she meant to him rather than just hoping she could tell – but knew that jumping the gun would ruin what little shot they had at making whatever this was work. Approaching her in a manner much like one would approach a wounded animal, Michael stepped into her apartment, pushing the door shut behind him. “Look, Charlotte, whatever marriage of convenience that Amanda and I had was over a long time ago, long before you and I had the luck of crossing paths”, he joked, noting the way her lip twitched as if fighting a grin. “You and me? We might have somethin' here and we might not. I don't know about you, but I'd spend the rest of my life kickin' myself if we didn't at least give it a shot.”

The silence grew thick in the air, making it feel like hours had passed when really it couldn't have been more than one or two minutes at the most. Charlotte found herself stepping forward, nearly toe-to-toe with Michael. “This can't be for me.”, she spoke softly, holding up the divorce papers. “If you two are done, be done – but don't do something like this just for me. The last thing I need is a scandal 'Movie producer divorces wife, finds himself hip deep in starlet co-star's pussy'”, she replied, crudely, knowing exactly how temperamental the tabloids in Los Santos could be, especially when the starlet was heir to the Richards Majestic fortune.

“Hey, that _ain't_ what this is about”, his voice demanded, almost as if insulted that she would think so little of him. “I'm here because I want to be, because I haven't felt the way I do when we're together in so long that I forget that it even existed, because I haven't thought about anything but finishing this since we started it back at the theatre.”, his words cut off, pressing his lips to Charlotte's, hoping that his actions could convey the things he didn't seem to have words for. Much like before, it sparked something within Charlotte, remnants of a flame that would not be easily contained. Pulling away after a moment, his nose brushed against the skin of her neck, taking a deep breath as he reveled in the soft scent of her perfume, his breath hitching in his throat. “God _damn_ , you're beautiful”, the words sent a warmth rushing over Charlotte, ones that in combination with his movements were slowly chipping away at the last few pieces of her resistance.

It was instinct that drove him to grasp her chin in his hand, desperate to know if she felt even a modicum of the spark that she inspired within him. There were a million thoughts bouncing around in her mind, not the least of which was the warmth of his roughened fingers grazing her chin, gently guiding her brown eyes up to meet his blue. Her hands trembled as they moved to the buttons of his shirt, shaking with the implications of where they were headed in a hurry. Slipping the soft material off of his shoulders, Charlotte dropped it to the floor before pulling her chin free of his grasp and pressing her lips against the now-revealed skin, desperate for something she might not have been able to put a name to but that her body instinctively knew he could provide. “Forgive me father, for I know not what I do.”, she whispered, so softly that for a moment, Michael wondered if he had actually heard her say anything at all or if this were all just some big cosmic joke that his mind was playing on him. “Wha-” the questioning word was cut off as the hand that she had wrapped around the back of his neck began tugging his lips down to meet hers.  
  
In that moment, nothing else mattered – not his past misdeeds, not the now-forgotten divorce papers; The only thing that held his attention was the soft curves of the woman whose lips were currently laying claim to his own, ones that had spit pure venom just a few hours prior but were now wanting nothing more than to please. In a rare moment of self-clarity, Michael's fingers twisted themselves into the hair gathered at the back of Charlotte's head and tugged. One glance and he felt his breath leave him - her lips swollen and red, the desperation laced in her features matching that of his own. “You sure about this?”, he questioned, eyes searching her for any sign of regret or hesitation. “No”, came her simple reply, a soft smile playing on her lips.

And with that, the last shred of resistance between the two of them snapped.

It became a flurry of movement – pants and shoes lost in the entry way (maybe during one of the times that Michael caught himself wondering why they were aiming for the bed when there was a perfectly good flat-surface on the floor, or the strength of the wall to lean upon), stumbling over each other only to follow it up with more kisses. All heat, hurried touches, rough kisses, murmured moans and groans as they each reverted back to a primal state of being with one goal, and one goal only, in mind.

Charlotte's back hit her bedroom door, hands pulling off of Michael just long enough to find the doorknob and twist it hurriedly, nearly sending them tumbling onto the ground.

Michael began walking her backwards until his knees pressed up against a soft surface that he could only assume was the bed. Both were breathing heavily, as if they were dying in a desert and the other was the only source of water for miles, eagerly drinking up as much as they could. Charlotte moved to join him on the bed, only to be stopped by a firm “Wait”. Confusion, and maybe even a hint of anxiety that he was beginning to regret it all, washed over her until she saw the mischievous grin on the older man's face. “Touch yourself...... _slowly_.”, he murmured, moving his hands gently along her sides, taking note of how smooth and soft she was. “I want to watch you.”

Her tongue darted out to wet her cherry-red lips as she slid a hand down her front, fingers not stopping until the brushed up against her favorite little bundle of nerves. Charlotte had never really been an exhibitionist, but something about the moment, something in Michael's gaze, made her _want_ to put on a good show for him, want to tease and taunt him into just devouring her body. A delicate finger tapped against her clit, rubbing it in little circles as her hips began to move against the finger, a dainty little sigh or two slipping past her lips. _'it's not enough'_ , the little voice in the back of her head echoed. _'more – you need more'_.

As if he heard that little voice too, Michael rose to his feet one more time, stepping behind her, brushing her hair away from her neck and pressing his lips into the skin it revealed. “So soft”, he groaned in response to the breathy little moans that kept slipping out of Charlotte, noting the way her head lulled ever-so-slightly to the side as if giving herself over to him. A hand, roughened by years of torment, slid slowly down her side, fingertips tracing over her stomach and covering the hand she was using to touch herself, guiding it to move in a pattern that only he knew. “So soft and so warm”

Body alight with desire and desperation, Charlotte brought her free hand up to her breast, tweaking the nipple in time with the movement of their joined fingers, using the strength of Michael's body behind her to keep her knees from giving out as his fingers moved against her, like she was an instrument that he had spent years learning how to play. It was simultaneously too much and not enough, bringing her to the edge but never letting her dive over into the abyss. “Mi– Michael, _please_...”, she begged, craving the feeling of him not just moving near her but moving _within_ her.

Maneuvering themselves around, Michael was hit with the stark realization of what they had forgotten in their lust-fueled actions: A condom. As if reading his mind, Charlotte began waving wildly behind them, towards her bedside table. “In the...the table.... _god...._ _ **hurry**_ ”. Yanking open the drawer, he saw the box of unopened condoms sitting right on top, shaking one lose with his hands. “Mmm, that's my good girl.”, he murmured,

He gripped his erection within his hand, using the slickness of her desire that coated his fingers to stroke himself, so sure that even just one more word from her lips would send him over the tipping point. “Easy, baby. I've got you.”, he whispered into her ear, not missing the goosebumps that raised across her skin from his words alone. Using his foot to nudge Charlotte's feet apart, Michael nestled his cock between her legs, letting it slide between her folds but not entering her – not yet. “Look, baby – Look at you, look at _us_.”, he motioned towards the mirror on the other side of her bed, where their nearly-joined naked bodies were in full view. Her skin was flushed red, hair tussled; She honestly couldn't remember a time that she looked more thoroughly turned on than she was right now, each gentle thrust of Michael's hips making her knees quiver just a little harder. One of his arms wrapped around her chest, hand resting at the base of her neck to hold her body in place – the other hand slipped between them, lining his cock up with her entrance, teasing it for a moment before slowly, painstakingly slowly, pushing into her. Any coherent thought that had been left in Charlotte's mind went flying out the window, replaced by the delicious feeling of being stretched and filled. Her eyes tried to shut of their own volition, thoroughly and completely aroused by the intensity she saw in his eyes being reflected back in the mirror.

“Mmm, that'a girl, 's my good girl.”, she heard him groan into her neck, licking and sucking on the soft skin as she was left wondering if death by arousal was a thing. Their hips started move as one – Michael's smooth thrusts being met with thrusts from Charlotte, working each other's bodies into a frenzy, marching towards that peak of ecstasy together. The sounds of their bodies slapping against each other echoed throughout the apartment, grunts, groans and moans joining it to create a chorus of sexual desire. Her lithe fingers scrambled to latch onto his free hand, moving back towards her clit and moving it frantically, needing that last little push to get her there. She could feel his grin before she heard him chuckle and whisper “Oh, is that what you need, little girl? Hm? Y'need a little help from Big Daddy?” All she could do was nod, feeling that all-too-familiar warmth growing in the pit of her stomach, legs quaking and threatening to give out beneath her. Even just speaking a word seemed to require more energy than she could spare, leaving her hips grinding against his fingers as he pounded into her. Michael could feel how close he was to his own orgasm, praying that he at least saw Charlotte through to one of her own, that he didn't disappoint the one woman who had wanted to sleep with him without some form of payment being left on the nightstand in his wake. Moving his face to rest right by her ear, he gave it a gentle tug with his teeth as he groaned words of encouragement to her. “C'mon, baby girl. I know you got it in you. Cum, _**now.**_ ” The authority in his voice seemed to be just what she needed, sending Charlotte spiraling into the throws of an orgasm, the likes of which she hadn't experienced without battery-powered intervention in what seemed like ages. There was a part of him that wanted to remain in that moment forever, watching the pleasure rip through her, feeling her quake around him and knowing that HE was the one who gave her that, who brought her that kind of pleasure. Luckily, his sense of self-preservation kicked in, the feeling of her walls clinching around him knocking him into an orgasm of his own, trembling within her as he came over and over until he nearly collapsed on top of her out of exhaustion.

Their still joined bodies collapsed onto the bed, chests heaving as they each tried to catch their breath and regain some semblance of control over themselves. “Holy fuckin' shit”, Michael gasped out, heart racing so hard that for a split second, he thought it might actually burst through his chest. “I think.....nah, I _know_ you're goin' to kill me there, Charlie-Girl.”

With an exhausted laugh, Charlotte rolled over, tucking her head into his shoulder as she draped an arm over his sweat-covered chest. “Maybe”, she agreed, nodding but unable to keep the satisfied smile off of her face.

“but what a way to go.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to hell. Yep, I'm going straight to hell. I didn't know how y'all would feel about the whole aspect of Charlotte calling him 'Daddy' or 'Big Daddy', so I kind of soft balled it in there (Ned Luke who voiced Michael De Santa actually refers to himself as 'Big Daddy' on his instagram all of the time).
> 
> I hope my first attempt at published smut is okay - I'm asexual myself so I more or less made it up as I went.
> 
>  
> 
> I might write the argument between Michael and Amanda that led up to her signing the divorce papers. If that's something y'all want to see, let me know in the comments.


	5. Haunt While I Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is somewhat short, but I wanted to delve into what the morning after might be like for our dynamic duo. I also need to get back into the swing of writing again, so here we go!

The sunlight cascaded through the high-rise apartment’s windows, chasing the shadows out and welcoming in the promise of a new day.  Trying (and failing) to stifle a groan as he stretched out, Michael was hit with the realization that he wasn’t alone before the previous night’s memories came rushing back in, filling him with a happiness he had long ago stopped believing existed. Almost as if on instinct, he found himself reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Charlotte’s ear, taking note of the soft sigh that escaped her lips at the most gentle of touches, such a stark contrast from what he had been privy to just a few hours prior.

Amanda had never been more furious – screaming, shouting, throwing anything within arm’s reach.  He had never been more glad for his children’s insistence that they not spend any more time together than he had been in that moment; The break-down of the last remnants of their parents’ marriage was not something to which Jimmy or Tracey needed to be exposed.

He had begged Amanda to understand, tried to show her that neither of them had been happy in an exceptionally long time.  “Happy people don’t have as many affairs as we have, Mandy”, he begged, pleading with her to try and see things from his point-of-view.  “We tried the counseling and it didn’t work.  It’s time for us to cut our losses and move on.”  She had signed the begrudgingly signed the papers, but not before promising that he was in for the fight of his life – but he didn’t care; He’d gladly pay any amount of money a hundred times over if it meant that the illusion of a happy marriage with Amanda was finally over.

The shrill sound of a cell phone ringing cut through the air, and Michael found himself half-diving out of the bed to answer it before Charlotte woke up, praying that it was just a wrong number.

“Hey there whatever-the-fuck-your-last-name-is-now, are we just not answering our home phones now or what?”

Stepping out onto the small balcony, Michael slid the door shut behind him.  “What the fuck do you want, T?”, he struggled to keep from yelling, ever cautious of the woman sleeping just a few feet away. 

“What’s the matter, Sugar Tits? No love for your old buddy, Trevor? Well you can relax, It ain’t like this is a social call.  See, my boy up here, Ron - _Yes I fucking heard you, Ron, now calm the hell down, I swear to Christ, this is why your wife ran off with the fucking gardener!”,_  Michael heard Trevor shout to the person he assumed to be the lizard people-fearing neighbor he had met during his temporary stay in Sandy Shores.  “ANYWHO, my boy seems to think we might have a little trouble from our old FIB buddies headed our way.  It seems Haines isn’t too happy that you turned down his request for a chat.”

The mere mention of the FIB agent left a horrible taste in Michael’s mouth.  He hadn’t wanted to get into bed with the bureau in the first place, but had thought it was his only option; An option that nearly got him, Franklin, Lester, and Trevor – not to mention Amanda and Tracey – killed, but an option none the less.

“Yeah, well, good ole’ Agent Haines can take his meetings and shove ‘em up his ass.  We just got clear of that shit, I ain’t about to go crawlin’ back into bed with those assholes again.”

\---

With a sigh, Charlotte rolled over in bed, desperate to keep the real world from intruding on her bliss, even if just for one more moment.  The night before had been so much more than she had expected, but with the joy, came the nagging voice of doubt – the one that insisted that she was the reason the De Santa marriage was coming to an abrupt end, that her father would be furious about her getting involved with a person with a criminal background like Michael’s. 

Slipping on the robe that she kept beside her bed, Charlotte grinned at the man smiling in her direction from the balcony, mouthing the words “I’ll be right back” before turning to head downstairs.  The Saturday morning paper awaited and with it would be the review of their film.

 Desperate to see if the months of hard work had paid off, she bounced down the stairs, flinging the front door open only to be greeted by the smell of the chloroform-soaked cloth being pressed tightly over her mouth, beckoning her into unconsciousness.

\---

“T – T, I’m not going to sit here and argue about this shit.  If you’re so goddamned desperate to stay off of the FIB’s shit list, **YOU** go to the fuckin’ meeting.”, Michael groaned, wiping his hand over his tired face.  Any other time, he might have paid Trevor’s ramblings some heed, but things were too good – finally having served Amanda with the papers, having had one hell of a night with his dream girl – He wasn’t all that eager to be reminded of his dark past, not yet at least.

“Where in the hell… No, not you Trevor, I’m just lookin’ for Ch – _someone_ , that’s all.”, he caught himself before slipping, knowing Trevor would never let it go if he were to know who he spent the night with.  “Yes, _someone that wasn’t my hand_ – You’re fuckin’ hilarious.”

Turning the corner, Michael took note of the open door, his eyes flicking towards the state of disarray in the entryway as he was filled with a sense of dread – Someone had put up one hell of a struggle.

“T, I think you need to get to Los Santos – Now.   I’m going to need your special brand of help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dun dun dunnnn* Hope you're all enjoy reading about Trevor as much I enjoyed writing him :)


End file.
